


Dissociate

by orphan_account



Series: Tumblr Requests! [8]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood and Violence, Consensual Possession, F/M, Gen, Murder, Out of Body Experiences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22796494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Anything to get his kids back, right?
Series: Tumblr Requests! [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1579141
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

This can’t be too hard, right?

Chase sighed, setting his bag down on a rock in the middle of the brush. The sun was setting, the orange and pink hues melting through the trees centering themselves like a spotlight on him. Guilt washed over him in waves. He shouldn’t be doing this, he knew that already. It was dangerous. He’d heard that speech from Marvin for hours before.

But he couldn’t listen, could he?

He’d stolen something from Marvin’s room. No, not just something; he’d taken Marvin’s spellbook. Chase could hardly read the cover, but he knew what it was the moment he touched it. Hand-crafted, with a spine of sage-infused wood.

Kneeling down, he took it out of the bag. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t morally sound.

Anything to get his kids back, right? That’s what he promised the moment he heard of their disappearance. During his fit of hysterical sobs and binge drinking, he’d made that promise to the mirror. To the shape that he couldn’t believe reflected his own. He shook his head.

Focus, Chase. You don’t have much time.

His fingertips traced around the lid of a small mason jar. The liquid inside looked more like a paste than anything else. A chalky, dense goo that would stick to his fingers like some sort of adhesive. It was the first thing he found in Marvin’s drawer, so he took it.

Perfect for pentagrams.

He’d read through the book front to back on the way there, but he didn’t make sense out of much. He hadn’t needed all of it. All he needed was the summoning spell.

Flipping through the pages, he read aloud.

Paint the shape of a pentagram on the ground where you wish to summon. Lay your vessel in the center, and light the candles. Say your purpose for the summoning aloud, and blow out one candle to allow spirit you’re summoning access to the vessel.

Chase stopped there. The rest were warnings. He was ignoring those. Anything to get his kids back.

He stuck his hands in the red paste, feeling the grit between his fingers as he spread out the star shape on the grass below. It felt warm, surprisingly, and had an almost sweet smell to it.

He stepped back, looking at his (although uneven) drawing in the dirt. The sun was setting fast. It was only a matter of time before he’d get lost out here.

Taking out the lighter from his back pocket, he traced his hands over the button. He was really doing this, wasn’t he? As stupid as it sounded, he ignored his second guessings. It was too far into the ritual now.

With the candles lit, he laid down in the circle. Warmth encircled him, forming a dome of comfort around him. The final rays of light from the sun billowed past the clouds and onto his chest. It dripped through his skin as he basked in the final moments of calm before the storm. The burning in his lungs grew with time, and the pit that settled in his stomach was nothing but a gaping hole.

“LET’S ROCK ‘N ROLL, BUCKAROO!” He yelled, blowing out the candle to his side and allowing the tranquility to break.

Chase was suffocating. His own bones seemed to tense excruciatingly, the contortion of his inner workings cracking into place. Despite what he felt, he hadn’t moved a muscle. His throat was closed, small rasps of a call for help left empty in the darkness that fell over the forest. The sounds of cicadas chirping became uninviting, like a warning call alerting the emptiness of his presence.

Anything to get his kids back, even if it killed him.

His head spun, the darkness swirling into a blur of everything but empty. Shapes seemed to glow in front of him, nothing having a proper form. Just menacing color contorting to fill a space that might not have existed in the first place.

As he took his final raspy breath, choked on his own failing internals, it all stopped. The ground was empty. Nothing underneath, nothing above. Just an endless void. An absence of pain, of suffering, of joy, of feeling. What was he now?

“You’ve come crawling back to me again, I see.”

That voice, that damned voice. Chase could recognize it from miles away. Why him? Why did Chase get stuck with this thing at full vulnerability? It disgusted-

“Now now, I can hear you,y'know. Chase, you aren’t as safe in here as you think.”

Anti. He materialized from the void, the static encasing the being grew to become the only sound in the empty. This couldn’t be real.

“You look frightened. Why be so scared, huh? Is it because you weren’t expecting little old me back? You thought I was gone, didn’t you? Finally erased from ex-”

“No,” Chase responded. At least, it felt like he did. He had heard it from a far off distance, but it was his voice. Somewhere else in the void.

“No? No? What, did you expect this to happen? Pathetic. You just wanted to mess with something, again. You can’t get enough of that sweet rush of rebellion, eh? Is it your ow-”

“I need help to find my kids, Anti. Are you going to help me or not?”

Silence. A mind-numbing silence.

It went on for hours, days maybe? Centuries of just waiting in the dark for a new indication of life outside of his own head.

Then, he woke up.

But he was somewhere else. Not in the forest clearing, not anywhere near that place at all. His hands were bruised and bloodied, his jeans ripped and tattered. His hat wasn’t in its place, but an aching pain took its place. The scent of old cedarwood and regrets wafted into his nose.

He was home. His old home. Stacy’s home now. What was he doing here? Of all places?

“You’re welcome.”

Chase flinched at the voice again. He suddenly felt sick. Gaining control of his body, his head cleared of its previous fog. He could finally think clearly.

But he wished he couldn’t.

A trail of blood trailed from his feet, down the hallway. It wasn’t his. It didn’t feel the same as his. Smelled different too, with more of tainted rust. The blood in his hands wasn’t his. Not anymore.

It was Stacy’s, and he screamed.


	2. Chapter 2

“You…you what?!” Marvin yelled, his horrified gaze glaring down at the blood-covered Chase below him. 

Chase couldn’t answer. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. He’d been deceived, lied to even. All he wanted was to get his kids back. That’s all he ever wanted.

So, he cried. Through shaky breaths, he felt Marvin’s anger peering into his back. Guilt. Guilt and shame and downright fear covered him like a static void. Vulnerability in an environment where he couldn’t see, couldn’t feel, couldn’t breathe. Nothing was as gut-wrenching as he felt. 

But the worst hadn’t properly settled either. It was encased in this erratic bliss, with one thought covering the other in a pattern of empty promises and lies. Too much for someone so vulnerable. 

“I-I’m sorry…so, so, so…” Chase let out a bitter cough as he fell to his knees in front of the magician, “S-so-sorr-”

“Sorry doesn’t fix it, Chase. You let this happen! How am I supposed to accept your apology when you just…just–” Marvin’s voice was rising, and his hands motioned in ways Chase couldn’t see, “–do this?”

“Magic isn’t something you can just fuck around with! It’s dangerous, Chase, especially for you.” 

Marvin stepped back. 

“C-can’t you fix it? Can-can’t you go back? Turn back time or something?” 

Marvin stayed quiet. 

“P-please, Marvin.” Chase grabbed the magician’s arms, bloodied hands staining the skin, “I’ll do anything to get them back.”

Marvin didn’t make a sound. 

“J-just help me get them back. Plea-” Chase’s words became muffled by his crying. He couldn’t finish a sentence through the strained gasps for air. His throat ached from the screaming, the calling. Into the night, he yelled. When it all first happened, that’s exactly what he did. 

Screamed, and made noise, and let the sound take him over. 

Now, he was doing it again. Not out of fear, but out of agony. Out of a longing. A longing for security again. A longing for everything to be turned back right. 

A longing for his family back.


End file.
